Inexplicable

By Willa Okati

Deacon’s everything Kit wants. Kit’s everything Deacon needs -- three days a month. Alpha and ex-jarhead Deacon’s an over-the-road trucker, always on the move, and he likes it that way. And Omega Kit’s… good with that. He’s not going anywhere. Not seeing anyone else. He’s promised himself he’ll never be like his parents -- he won’t tie a man down when he doesn’t want to be tied.

What Kit doesn’t know is that he’s pregnant -- until the night their son is born. Now everything’s changing. Babies do what they want, when they want. Just like Deacon.

Only Deacon’s not sure just what he does want… but he’s sure what he’s not willing to give up on, and that’s a future. And a family. His family.

Now all he has to do is convince Kit he’s in this for keeps.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Apr 3, 2020

Willa Okati

Willa Okati can most often be found muttering to herself over a keyboard, plugged into her iPod and breaking between paragraphs to play air drums. In her spare time (the odd ten minutes or so per day she's not writing) she's teaching herself to play the pennywhistle. Willa has forty-plus separate tattoos and yearns for a full body suit of ink. She walks around in a haze of story ideas, dreaming of tales yet to be told. She drinks an alarming amount of coffee for someone generally perceived to be mellow.

Book preview

keeps.

Chapter One

Deacon came home that night as the sun came up. Oh, not his real home, Kit supposed. Deacon’s only fixed address was the sleeper compartment in his eighteen-wheeler, and had been since the day he’d paid cash down for the truck. But if home was where the heart was, then when he came to Kit, Deacon was coming home.

And then coming, and coming again. And maybe just once more for sweet good measure.

Deacon hadn’t been expected, and that made his arrival all the more perfect. Kit didn’t care that he was dozy and wobbly and warm from a night in bed. Kit’s bed had been too lonely but now that would change because Deacon was here, right here at last. Hair ruffled, stubble on his cheeks and a cocky grin on his lips, Deacon looked like trouble in ragged blue jeans and good leather boots, ready for anything. His Marine Corps tattoo showed where he’d rolled his sleeves up and his eyes gleamed with a taste for playing as hard as he worked.

"Deacon. Deacon." Not giving a damn about standing on his front stoop in a busy neighborhood just waking up to a new day, and which would have loved a show, Kit leapt at Deacon and wound both arms around his neck.

Now that’s what I call a hello. Deacon laughed, low in his throat and pleased, and held Kit up as easily as if he wasn’t a full-grown man with shoulders just as broad as the Alpha’s. He bent his head to nibble at Kit’s neck. Need something, Omega?

After all these years as lovers, he could still make Kit blush. Kit hid his face against Deacon’s firm chest and shook his head, not knowing what to say. I need you was obvious. I want you, even more so. I have to have you inside me…

Kit peeked up from beneath his lashes, aware of just what that did to Deacon, and glad, because a look like that was all he could manage between breathless shudders of yearning. I want you inside me, he said, winding his legs as well as his arms around Deacon. Come inside. In all ways, he meant, and he knew Deacon understood him that way.

Deacon bit his lip hard and swore, dark and rough. You’ll be the death of me.

A little death, Kit promised, twining closer. Make love to me.

Sweetheart, if you think you can stop me now…

And oh, Kit liked the sound of that. He laughed as Deacon, strong as an ox, wriggled him loose and tossed him over his shoulder. A hearty smack on the ass and they were on their way up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Kit slid his hands down the back of Deacon’s jeans, kneading the fine firm flesh he found there.

Deacon popped his hip again, the sting sweet and sharp. Not playing fair there, Kit.

Kit rubbed his cheek against Deacon’s shoulder. All’s fair.

God damn, when you purr like that you make me want to bathe you in cream and lick you clean, Deacon said as he reached the top of the steps and set Kit lightly on his feet. He gave him a warm look, no less wild than his nature allowed, and tilted his head at the locked door. Want a good fucking, Kitten? Let me in.

And didn’t Kit just! He hadn’t seen Deacon in weeks, far longer than they usually went between visits -- Deacon’s work had taken him to California for ages, and every time he’d planned to make his way back to the East Coast, another job opened up. Every time they put their plans off, Kit retreated to his bed with a toy or two specifically designed for Omega satisfaction, but they just weren’t the same.

They couldn’t kiss you. They didn’t have hands to run over your skin. They couldn’t whisper wicked things in your ears. They couldn’t…

Who cared? They didn’t matter. Not when he had his favorite Alpha in his arms. Kit hurried to let them both in, and turned quick as a wink to catch Deacon by the belt. He tug-dragged the man to his bed, both of them laughing, shedding clothes as they went -- not in any particular order, and when they reached their goal Deacon still had his jeans on, if open, and one sock, and Kit still wore his pajama shirt.

Kit peeled that off with a thrill going through him at the way Deacon stopped to stare hungrily, then fell back onto his bed. He rested on his elbows, his legs splayed slightly apart with one drawn up a little to hide his cock from Deacon’s view. Deacon loved a show, and he loved being the one to draw out a performance. With him -- only him -- Kit could play that sort of a part.

Deacon, he trusted.

Though Deacon had paused to frown at the bed, taking in the unplugged heating pad pushed to one side and the uncapped bottle of ibuprofen on the nightstand, along with a mostly-empty bottle of water. You all right, hon?

Kit shrugged. Part of the reason he hadn’t slept had been a backache that just wouldn’t quit, but he’d spent the previous evening helping baby-sit his friend Jory’s new son, lifting and chasing and picking up after the exhausted new father. Tweaked a muscle, he said. Nothing to worry about.

You sure?

Kit clicked his tongue. A distracted Alpha wouldn’t give him what he wanted, what he needed. He reached out to tickle Deacon’s thigh with his bare toes and get him back on track. You can’t do much with your jeans on, love. Take those off.

His ploy worked. Deacon snorted and shook his head, reminding Kit of a horse. Hmm. A steel horse, perhaps, given Deacon’s nature. He did ride whenever he got the chance, whenever he visited old Ranger friends who owned bikes. The notion suited Kit. Powerful, and mighty between the legs.

Anything you ask, Deacon said, hands going to his waist, then hovering there. But give me a show, beautiful. Warm me up.

As if Deacon needed encouragement! He’d have a tricky time working a cock that hard out of his jeans, but Kit didn’t mind. Hot could always get hotter.

Where to begin? Ah. He traced his tongue across his lips as he nodded, then reached inside his jeans and between his legs to stroke his cock, dipping one finger into the slit beneath his balls for moisture. Deacon’s nose twitched, and Kit knew he could smell the deepening of Omega pheromones.

Kit touched one fingertip to his tongue and thrilled at the sound of Deacon’s deep groan. The Alpha had gotten his jeans off, and his cock jerked at the sight and smell. Gorgeous.

Come inside me, now, Kit murmured again as he fingered himself. He could go deeper than usual, oddly deep, but egging Deacon on satisfied an urge he hadn’t known he was suffering from, to stroke high and hard within himself. Come inside, Deacon, come.

Deacon came -- in one sense at least, tumbling down onto the bed, on top of Kit, and smothering him in kisses, enveloping him in heavy limbs, stealing the rest of Kit’s breath with his touch. Deacon couldn’t wait, Kit discovered, as hot for some bed-play as Kit was, and pushed his spread legs higher, wider open, farther apart so that he could snug his groin between them. I’ll make love to you nice and sweet later, he promised, but I have to have you now.

Kit surrendered, rocking his hips up to bring them closer. "Then take me."

Deacon groaned again, deep and guttural, as he slid home inside Kit’s body. Fuck, you’re so wet, so open, he muttered, moving so that Kit’s knees clamped his hips. Been thinking about me?

What do you think? Kit could feel his orgasm coming already, hot and eager, and before he could go on the first spasm rocked him. "Deacon!"

Shit, Deacon swore, thrusting deep and slow. "What’s got you this fired up? So wet, fuck, you almost never get this wet."

You. The dreams I was having. I don’t know. Kit arched back and raked his hands through his hair, seized by the powerful shuddering in his groin and belly. He wasn’t done yet, he could tell. Keep going. Don’t stop. Don’t stop until I do.

Darlin’, you try and make me, Deacon said. He put his mouth to the side of Kit’s neck and all talk was forgotten then for hot, wet, long minutes where nothing existed, nothing mattered except the slide of his cock in Kit’s slick, open slit and then the hard squeeze of his hand around Kit’s erection. Kit often needed more than just a hand job to come, but he spasmed into orgasm at Deacon’s first touch, climaxing with a clenching of the belly that nearly made his heart stop. His slit clamped down on Deacon without mercy, making the man buck atop him.

Breathless, Deacon laughed, but cords stood out in his neck and he was getting close, so close, himself. "Gonna squeeze my dick